


Inside Lockwood and Co.

by George_the_Pumpkin



Category: Lockwood & Co. - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Boys Will Be Boys, Could Be Canon, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Gen, Ghosts, Light Angst, Meddling Kids, Platonic Relationships, Please Don't Hate Me, Slice of Life, Team as Family, This is the first story I've ever written, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:15:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24482638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/George_the_Pumpkin/pseuds/George_the_Pumpkin
Summary: A collection of Lockwood and Co. drabbles
Relationships: Lucy Carlyle & Anthony Lockwood, Lucy Carlyle & George Cubbins, Lucy Carlyle & George Cubbins & Anthony Lockwood, Lucy Carlyle/Anthony Lockwood
Comments: 28
Kudos: 58





	1. Pat-a-Cake, Pat-a-Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Lockwood and Co. and am not making any money from this story. Lockwood and Co. and its respective characters belong to Jonathan Stroud. Please support the official release.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing and am not being paid

Lucy walked into the library and almost face-planted from tripping over George, who was sprawled on the floor. 

“George! I almost died! What are you doing on the floor?!” Lucy yelled. But George just moaned pitilessly. After a bit of expectant staring, Lucy shook her head and went to go sit in her favorite armchair to continue reading that detective novel. She didn’t get very far though. George kept letting out increasingly dramatic groans and was squirming distractingly on the ground. 

“Would you stop that!” she snapped. 

“I’m dying.”  This proclamation was followed by some more moaning and wriggling. 

“Really? What fun!” The skull was wearing a grotesque grin. Lucy gave it a look. 

“No, you’re not.” Lucy refuted while rolling her eyes.

“I really am,” George whined. He continued “I haven’t had any cake all day. And there isn’t anymore in the kitchen. And I don’t have the strength to go to Ariff’s.” 

Lucy had to stifle a laugh. Oh, who was she kidding? She burst into loud giggles. George gave her an affronted look from his position on the floor. Which just made her laugh louder. 

“Is that really what all this fuss is about.” The statement was stuttered between giggles.

“This isn’t a laughing matter! I’m serious! I can feel the life leaving my body!” George shouted.

Still occasionally giggling, Lucy stood up and walked over to the doorway. 

“Whatever you say, George.” she said before leaving the room.

George frowned from his position. “I really am dying. I am.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then Lucy walks by to see Lockwood cradling George’s head and saying “George! Stay with me! I’ll bake you a cake as fast as I can!”.


	2. I Don't Sing in the Shower, I perform

The sound of “ _ Baby, can’t you see I’m calling. A guy like you should wear a warning. It’s dangerous. I’m falling _ ,” drifted down the stairs and into the library where Lockwood and Lucy were sitting. 

“George is doing it again,” Lucy stated. 

“Hmmm?” Lockwood looked up from his latest gossip rag. And another particularly awful strain of offkey notes streamed into the room. “Oh. Well, at least he’s taking an interest in hygiene.” 

“He either needs to stop or learn to sing.” Lucy complained.”At the rate this is going, I’ll be deaf by-” She was interrupted by harsh knocking on the door.

Lockwood stood to go answer it. Lucy could hear a few strains of their conversation.

“Flo?” Lockwood questioned.

Lucy thought he sounded confused. 

“Locky! I was - and the coffee - idiots, of course - can I come in?” Flo was her usual self. Lucy could hear her banging her way in before Lockwood could answer. 

“Did you find a dying cat, Locky?” Flo questioned. She had come in just in time to hear George go off again.

“No, no... that would be George,” Lockwood replied.

Flo looked confused. “You sure? I don’t think anyone can sound that bad.” 

They appeared in the hallway. Lucy made her way to go join them by the stairs.

“Girly. I see you're still here.”

Lucy bristled.

She was just getting puffed up and ready to throwdown when George started up again.

“ _ Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale. A tale of a fateful trip. That started from this tropic port. Aboard this tiny ship... _ ” 

Effectively cutting off whatever cutting remark Lucy was about to say. Everyone paused and listened in revulsion.

Flo looked contemplative. Then she seemed to come to a conclusion. “Well, that’s just terrible. Now-”.

A loud “ _ I keep a record of the wreckage in my life”  _ was heard, and then the sound of choking and spitting. 

“He ate the shampoo, again,” Lucy said. Lockwood just nodded in response. 

He was starting up the stairs when Flo pushed past him. Lockwood looked startled but made no move to stop her. She moved confidently towards the bathroom door crossing the distance in two muddy strides. A cloud of dirt puffed up with each step.

She knocked and yelled “Cubbins! You better not be drowning in there!”

“No, I'm not! I was just in the middle of a performance when suddenly this glob of shampoo attacked me," He spluttered. "Singing in the shower is all fun and games until you get shampoo in your mouth … blargh.” George made a disgusted sound. 

“Yep." She said popping the p. "Then it becomes a soap opera,” Flo stated.

She moved to sit against the wall.

Lockwood and I choked on our laughs, it looked like Flo had it covered. We would leave them to it. 

“Tea?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, please,” Lockwood replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics came from Toxic by Britney Spears, Gilligan's Island Theme, and Nightmare by Halsey.


	3. Bears

“Once when me and my mom went to the London zoo we saw some people wrestling the bears and she said to me ‘George, don’t you go wrestling any bears now’,” George stated.

Everyone in the office stared at him. Barnes put his head in his hands. 

He had called us into his office to discuss another case “gone wrong” and it looked like he was severely regretting that decision. 

“Some of us aren’t so stupid as to go wrestle bears, George,” Lucy snarked. 

George glared at her.

Lockwood scoffed, “Well, I never had any parental figures telling me not to wrestle bears.”

Foreseeing how quickly this could go downhill Barnes intercepted quickly “Me, me, I am that parental figure telling you-”

“You know what, I'm going to wrestle a bear and none of you can stop me!” Lockwood pronounced.

Barnes' eyes widened in horror. “What did I ever do to deserve this,” he mumbled into his hands.

The three agents, bickering over what level of stupidity wrestling a bear was, drowned out his anguished groan.

The door opened.

“I got the papers- Hey, what’s going on in here?!” Kipps exclaimed.

Everyone exchanged glances.

“Bears,” Lucy said solemnly. Which explained exactly nothing but at the same time everything.

Kipps just stood there in confusion.

“I’ll never understand you people!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Kipps got even more confused when they developed into an argument about whether animals came back as ghosts.


	4. A Quaint and Curious Volume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title was taken from Edgar Alan Poe's The Raven.

The case couldn’t have been going any worse. All of the iron chains were set up in the other rooms, the salt and iron filings used up from the last manifestation, and using a magnesium flare in this situation would be an even worse idea than usual. There wasn’t even any lavender around for us to use.

In the course of the last five hours, the ghost had manifested at least five times and we were no closer to finding the source. It was a phantasm, a particularly malevolent one too. 

All three of us had had close calls with ghost touch. 

And here I had been hoping for a nice, simple case that would take an hour or two to clear up. At least it wasn’t a talker. I don’t think I would have lasted this long without blowing a fuse if there was a litany of the usual phrases ghosts said. Like the Grisly Manor where the ghost just kept rambling on about cats and the scientific properties of dust. Ugh, it was terrible. Needless to say, it was a relief that here there was only the occasional accusation of “Liar!”. 

We were currently holed up in the dated kitchen. It was the only room we hadn’t checked yet. If luck was actually on our side tonight then we would find the source before the phantasm could appear again. But since when has our luck ever been good. 

The cupboards were absurdly high so in order to search them, we would have to climb the also stupid high counters. 

“What? Was this place made for giants?” I grumbled under my breath.

So that no one got an eye poked out or was accidentally stabbed, Lockwood and I placed our rapiers on the island. George would just have to hand them to us when we made it up. 

Putting one foot up on top of the counter, I inelegantly tried to bounce myself with my other foot enough to be able to scramble atop the stupid high counter. Beside me, I could see Lockwood make a graceful sort of leap up onto the counter. The showoff. When his feet were firmly planted beneath him he came over to help pull me up. 

“Angry phantasm, two o’clock!” George shouted. 

Getting my balance, I turned around to see George trying to ward off the apparition but one fumble broke the defense and he was jumping back to avoid a burst of ectoplasm and in the process dropped his rapier. 

“You buffoon!” I shouted. “How could you mess up the easiest ward knot?!”

“Don’t yell at me!” George shouted back.

Most likely feeding off the anger, the ghost flared brightly and everything, including our rapiers, was blown across the room. George was lucky he didn’t get skewered the way they flew. 

So here we were with no weapons against an apparition that wanted to kill us. Fantastic.

“Everyone calm down and look for something we can use to defend ourselves with.” Was the ever calm command from Lockwood.

We all looked around the kitchen for anything we could use but from what I could see there was nothing left on the counters that was made of iron. And a search of the cupboards above me produced nothing besides a pile of some pots and pans. There wasn’t even a salt shaker. 

George called out that the drawers contained some silverware which wasn’t the most useful tool but offered some protection.

“That will have to do for now,” Lockwood said. There was a note of… urgency in his voice.

He had noticed something I had not. The phantasm that was previously on the other side of the room was now a few feet away. 

In a last ditch effort everyone grabbed a handful of silverware, it was an old set that was actually made of silver, and started throwing it at the ghost. It wasn’t doing much to it but at least it had stopped its advance. 

“Does anyone have any better ideas?!” Lockwood called.

I looked down at the few remaining cutlery in my hand. “I don’t think our supply of silverware is going to last much longer.”

Suddenly a light went off in George’s eyes. 

“You know, I think I read something once where-”

“If you could just say the useful part, George!” I shouted.

After a momentary glare, George succinctly stated, “Loud noises drive away ghosts.”

At once, we all dove toward the cupboards and grabbed the pots and pans. 

If the house we were at had any neighbors, agents would have a worse rap than they already did. 

We were like madmen banging with the remaining cutlery on either a pot or a pan and screaming like banshees variations of “Shoo!” and “Go away!” at the ghost. 

And surprisingly the phantasm was being driven back, inch by slow inch. 

It was far enough away now to be able to jump off the counter. Lockwood and I almost in unison leaped from the high surface. I stumbled upon landing but Lockwood had smoothly transitioned into running.

The hilt of my rapier must have caught on something as it was lying in the middle of the room instead of towards the edges as Lockwoods’ and Georges’ were. Thus I was able to reach mine first. 

Starting the beginnings of a grade three knot, I advanced my position forcing the ghost to draw back. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see George running towards where his rapier lay. Lockwood had already reached his and was hurrying back across the room to me. Hopefully, they wouldn’t trip over the silverware we had flung all over the room.

It was only a few moments later that they joined me. Stepping in tandem we formed a triangular shape around the ghost preventing it from leaving the small area we had trapped it in.

Finally, I could see the apparition was fading, becoming more translucent with every swipe of our blades. Twisting around so we each had a different view of the kitchen. We began to scan for where the last wisps of ectoplasm had disappeared to.

“There,” George pointed, “it went into that old biscuit tin.”

Searching my utility belt, I took out a silver net and sheepishly looked at it for a second before throwing it over the tin. That would have been useful a few minutes ago. 

The air seemed to decompress and we took a moment to get our breaths back and compose ourselves. 

Lockwood wiped the sweat off of his face and said, “Let’s never speak of this again.” 

“Agreed” was the unanimous consent. 

And we never did speak of it again, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the image of Lockwood fending off an angry spirit with a ladle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom, crash, sound of my screams, the silverware flies on and on and on on


	5. I'm Not Alone. I Have My Friends

“Do you have any idea how many type threes there are?” Skull again questioned. “Huh, Do you?”

He was on another bent about how I don’t appreciate him enough and skullism and all that rot.

“No. And I don’t particularly want to know either.”

“There’s only two and I’m the superior one.”

That was actually pretty useful knowledge, but it’s not like I was going to tell him that.

“Oh, really”, was the drawled reply.

“Yes! So you really should value me more.” Skull crowed. “I’m limited edition! I’m unique! No other copies!”

“Thank God for that”, I mumbled sarcastically.

“Hey! Watch it! Maybe, I’ll stop giving you life-saving advice.”

I smiled in reply. “Wouldn’t that be nice. The majority of your ‘advice’ is terrible and usually illegal.”

He wouldn’t speak to me for the rest of the week.

* * *

This couldn’t be happening. No, no, no, no.

Skull’s skull was a blackened misshapen mass. The explosion that had ripped through Penelope… Marissa Fittes' rooms had thoroughly destroyed his source.

He couldn’t be gone. It wasn’t possible.

The evidence couldn’t be disputed though. There was no way he could have survived the blast.

How many times had I had to save him? …How many times had he saved me?

All of the hardship me and Lockwood had gone through to get him back from Rotwell. All of the helpful tips he had given during some of our cases (although never given until we almost died). All of the times he had saved my life when I was a freelancer.

He couldn’t be gone. No. It couldn't be.

We had gone through too much together for him to just be… gone… forever.

“Skull!” I cried.

Lockwood was pulling me toward the elevator. I knew we had to get out before the fire destroyed us too but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think.

My limbs were vague weights in my mind. And my thoughts were only a mantra of ‘No, no, no. He can’t be gone. It wasn’t possible.’

Vaguely, I could hear Lockwood shouting at me but it was as if from a great distance.

“Skull!” I cried again. I needed to get to him.

Lockwood was still dragging me toward the elevator.

I could understand his words now.

"Come on, Luce! We have to go!"

Trying to get my body to feel like a part of me again proved a difficult task.

I couldn’t move; to go forward and grab him.

‘Okay. ...Okay. Just one step at a time and then hopefully it will get easier.’

I stepped away from Lockwood’s grip on me.

One step… Two… Three… I was near the overturned coffee table.

Up close the skull looked even worse.

The thoughts that he wouldn’t be coming back came back full force.

‘No! I had to focus.’

My mind finally regained full control of my limbs.

The skull felt fragile. As if just touching it would cause it to crumble.

Cradling it in my hands I sprinted back over to Lockwood and together we leaped into the elevator.

* * *

It had been months.

Months of trying to get a response from him. Staring at the skull for hours. Waiting for some miraculous burst of ectoplasm and the words “Did you miss me?” with his snarky grin.

I hadn’t bothered to put it into a silver jar. It was lying on the windowsill in my attic bedroom, framed by the dying evening light.

Before he was gone I didn’t fully realize just what he was to me.

A friend. A good friend.

I guess it was just as he said “You really should value me more.”

I truly didn’t know what I had until it was gone.

I missed all of his snarky comments and even all the terrible advice he gave me.

"Come on, Lucy! We can't start without you!" George shouted from downstairs.

“Goodbye, Skull” I whispered softly. It was time to move on. Lockwood and George and Holly and Kipps were waiting for me.

And after a lingering glance, I left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a different mood than the others. Haha, sorry for the feels.  
> And as always thank you for reading!


	6. Lost on You (Part 1)

Lockwood would never admit it to anyone, he could barely admit it to himself, but he had made a mistake. A pretty big one too. One that changed everyone in the company's lives. 

Lucy was gone.

And maybe it wasn’t all his fault but he felt like the blame was on his shoulders. It reminded him unpleasantly of how he felt when Jessica died and the world was falling down around him. He had ignored Lucy and pushed her away because he couldn’t deal with the anger that came from seeing her interact with _compassion_ to visitors. 

He had centered his whole life around his job. Creating his own agency at 14, destroying ghosts night after night because they had ruined his life and took everyone he loved. Lucy couldn’t be another Jessica. He would do anything to protect her because if Lucy died the world would stop turning. There was a hole in him that appeared when his parents died. It grew when Jessica was murdered feet away from him, and it stretched each time someone on his team was injured or _killed._ He couldn’t keep on living with this gap in himself, death would be a welcome reprieve.

It took every bit of self-control in himself when he first saw Lucy talking to the skull to not burn it. Agents could go mad talking to type three’s and Lucy nattered on to it constantly, and dare he say it, became _attached_ to it . But when he saw Lucy talking to that boy at the Wintergarden house and with no protection, he saw red. Why does it matter why ghosts came back or what they wanted. All that mattered was getting rid of them so no one else got hurt. There was no reason to _help_ them. He argued about it often enough with George and his ridiculous research into the problem, but Lucy was crossing a line. George did research with nice, safe books whose only danger was a crushed toe. But Lucy was putting her _life at risk_ for a stupid visitor whose only thought was to kill the living. 

So he did the only thing he could that wouldn’t end with him shouting at her even more than he already had. He ignored her. He knew it wasn’t the best course of action, maybe even the worst thing he could do. The proof was there every time they talked, but he didn’t know what else to do. Lucy was the most stubborn person he knew, after himself of course, and he knew if she felt that this was the right thing to do then she would continue to do it no matter his opinion.

And so, he supposed, she chose the only option that was left in her mind. The very thing he was trying his hardest to prevent. He had spent hours in that cafe trying to convince her that she wasn’t a risk to them (only herself), but instead a valuable asset and she didn’t need to leave them, leave him. She left, quit the company, without saying a last goodbye. He had heard her when she left. Sneaking out in the early morning hours, where you don’t know if it’s morning or night. The stairs had creaked with her steps and her bag made a soft thumping noise with each step. He debated with himself on whether to say that awkward last plea to stay or to lay there and listen to the sounds of her fade from the house. He had gone to the door and almost pulled it open, his hand on the knob, but instead, he leaned his head against it. Trying to fight the tears.

He didn’t know what would feel worse, losing her to a visitor or losing her because of himself. He was inclined to believe it was the latter. But at least he had a chance, with the first option she would be dead and he didn’t really want to dabble in necromancy or anything like that. There was one bright spot in this haze of darkness that had enveloped him since Lucy had left. The hope that he could convince her to join the company again, join him. And then he could feel alive again.

He could tell that George and Holly were worried about him. George would stare at him when he thought he wasn’t looking. Holly would mother hen him. Piling whole grain waffles on his plate and constantly hovering over him. But the one that he hated the most, mainly because of the immense guilt it added to his already large pile, was when they would whisper about him. That combined with the fearful and concerned glances they gave him. He knew they worried about him and he _tried_ to pull himself together. But this black haze blocked everything except the purpose he had given himself all those years ago. So he threw himself into each case, pulling increasingly dangerous stunts with each one. They made him feel alive again, for a short while. He had quite a few new scars and fresh new reasons to hate visitors. His life had turned into a cycle of eat, solve cases, sleep, repeat. Really though, the only reason he slept and ate was because of Holly and George. Pulling him from his thoughts and reminding him that he needed to eat and get some rest. The only thing he did out of this cycle was stare at Lucy’s ad in the newspaper and the cases that she helped solve. George would glare at him whenever he caught him staring at the newspaper. 

He thought of this as he practiced his rapier work on floating joe. He would pull himself together. The world may have stopped turning when Lucy left but it could restart if he could just pull himself together. Then he could _do_ something about it. That bright spot in the haze grew brighter. He could do this. He wiped the sweat off his brow and ran a hand through his hair. A shower would be a good place to start.

It was by some miracle that Mrs. Fittes called on them a couple days later and gave them a case that needed a good listener. The knowledge that he had a reason to see Lucy after months of trying and failing to come up with one that wouldn’t end in her shutting the door in his face pulled the remaining haze from around him. Even just the thought of seeing Lucy made the world go round and the Lockwood charm to return full force. 

George harrumphed from his spot next to him in the kitchen. “I suppose this means you’ll be recruiting Lucy?” He was bitter about her abrupt departure but there was also a softness to his face that showed he would eventually forgive her. Lucy was family after all. And it was time to get a part of that family back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I'm not done being angsty yet.  
> This one really took a life of its own and we'll all see where it leads us.  
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> PSA  
> Ok, like I said before this one really took a life of its own. So I decided to repost it as a different work. The title is I Hope (This Doesn't Scare You Away), if you want to continue reading it. I have added a second chapter.


	7. Between the Shadow and the Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from a Pablo Neruda quote.

“Your existence is confusing.” Lucy blurted. She was propped up against the window ledge staring at the skull.

There was a brief flash of green light.

“How so?” The skull seemed as bewildered as a disembodied head could be. “Is it because I’m dead but technically living since I’m a sentient skull.”

“No. That’s not it.” She shook her head and leaned closer to the jar. “Your presence is annoying, but the thought of anything happening to you upsets me.” 

There were lots of incidents backing this up. The most recent one being Rotwell’s source stealing adventure.

She continued, “I guess that’s what my feelings for most people are. You, George, my siblings, lots of people. ...Although, maybe not a lot of people. There are quite a few who can get ghost touch.”

“Oh, NO. No way. You are not comparing me to Cubbins.” The skull was contorting into increasingly disgusting faces.

“Are you still sore at him? That was ages ago.”

“He put me in the oven! And in his  _ bath _ , while he was still  _ in it _ ! I still have nightmares!” The green light was flashing erratically now. 

Lucy scoffed, “You’re dead, you don’t sleep. You can’t have nightmares. And I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” She paused for a second with a thoughtful look on her face before it twisted. “On second thought, maybe it was.”

“Pshh. You’re not a ghost, you don’t know what I’m capable of.” The skull looked condescendingly on Lucy. “And I’ve seen horrors you couldn’t even begin to imagine, and none of them came close to having a bath with Cubbins.” 

“I have to agree with you there.” She gave a shudder. “Anyway, as I was saying your existence confuses me.”

The skull grinned, disturbing, and all teeth. “It’s because you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself without me. It isn’t too late to make Skull and Co. you know.”

“Ha, as if. Skull and Co. is never going to happen. And I’d get along perfectly without you.”

“If you say so.” The ectoplasm was dimming. “Actions speak louder than words, Lucy.”

“What! No! I would be fine without you. More than fine even.”

The skull sat dormant on the windowsill.

“Stupid skull! You can’t keep ending our arguments this way!”

Lucy marched out the room in a snit and the skull grinned from his perch on the windowsill.

Affection, huh. Well, that was something he shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I started college so I don't know how often I'll get the chance to update. So updates will be erratic.
> 
> Also if you didn't see the note I left at the end of chapter six I'll say it again. I felt like it didn't match the drabble collection vibe for me and so I made a new story off of that chapter and so updates for it will be on that work. It's called I Hope (This Doesn't Scare you Away).
> 
> And as always thank you for reading!


	8. Dinner for Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this on Tumblr first and decided it would fit in with my collection.
> 
> The usual disclaimer. I wish I was making money off of this.

"You're going on a date with me." This is the first thing I hear when I walk through the door.

Setting the box of donuts on the table, I spin to face Lockwood.

"I'm certainly not."

"You certainly are, because I may have lied to my great-aunt about being engaged and she will most definitely write me out of her will if she catches me lying about things again, and if you do I'll buy you whatever you want."

"A date is one thing but pretending to be engaged! And you don't even have a great-aunt."

"She's a distant relative, in both senses of the word."

I noticed he didn't mention the engaged part.

"We don't have the best track record with these charades. Don't you remember Winkman?"

From the aborted motion of his hand, he did remember bouncing down the street.

"This won't be anything like Winkman. Please, Luce. One dinner with me. And my great-aunt."

"Fine. One dinner. But I can't make any guarantees on if this is going to work."

\-- L&C--

The restaurant was of the upscale variety. The kind where rich old woman who wore too many garish rings gathered.

A server in a three-pieced suit emblazoned with the restaurant's logo greeted them and showed them to a private table.

I had turned down Lockwood's offer of a crash course in etiquette but now that seemed to be a mistake. We hadn't even sat down yet and I was feeling overwhelmed.

Lockwood discretely put a hand in front of me when I went to sit down and gave a nod toward his great-aunt.

Who made a big show of Lockwood pulling out her chair and sat down very slowly.

I shot him a glare when he pulled out my chair for me.

"Your starter will be here momentarily." The served said and bowed away.

"Anthony," his aunt said, "You must introduce me to your fiancée."

Lockwood was all elegance as he said "Certainly, Aunt Amelia, allow me to introduce you to Lucy Carlyle."

Before I could open my mouth, Lockwood stepped on my foot.

"A pleasure. I am Amelia Lillith Williams. I'm sure you've heard of my project to restore graveyards."

I had heard vague mentions of it in the agent rumor mill. Some thought it was happening too soon and then we would have a new problem to deal with.

"I have, yes. A fine cause."

"Of course," Ms. Williams haughtily said. "The good attention will most certainly be a boost to my reputation and my new company."

The server came back with the starter. It looked like a lobster arm on a few spinach leaves and other lobster parts scattered about.

It looked good, but it was something I had never eaten before or had ever planned to. 'Where would you even start?'

I decided to just try to discretely watch Lockwood tackle his piece and keep up with the conversation without causing suspicion.

Lockwood picked up what I thought to be a knife but after a close look it had two points on the end. 'That is really weird.'

Ms. Williams interrupted Lockwood's attempt to eat, "Anthony dear, how did you two meet?"

"At an interview," Lockwood said. I was half expected him to come up with some elaborate fake story. "For my company, actually."

This seemed to horrify her. "I trust you aren't still his employee. That would be completely inappropriate."

"Oh, I became a freelancer about a year ago," she didn't know that I had come back to Lockwood and Co. and it was only a slight lie. Nothing I said was necessarily untrue.

It seemed to do the trick and she relaxed. Or at least back to the stiff posture she had before.

Before I could embarrass myself by using the weird double-pointed knife wrong. The server came back with the main course. It was beef bourguignon, I think. Its name is a lot fancier than how it looks.

"Hmm. I suppose that's fine." She took a few bites of her meal. "When will the wedding be?"

The piece of beef I swallowed caught in my throat. This was expected, we were pretending to be engaged, but it still caught me off guard.

She didn't leave anytime for us to answer anyway. "Personally, I've always believed winter weddings to be the best in terms of scenery. There's too much mud in the spring and the weather is unpredictable in fall. Summertime would be the most practical."

Lockwood cut in, "Of course, Aunt. The wedding won't be till the end of the year or early next."

'Hopefully, you'll be dead by then. This engagement is going to be broken long before then.' I thought.

I desperately wished that skull was here to keep me sane. I had tried to fit him in my purse but he would never have fit.

Conversation continued to be strained and awkward throughout the meal. The most exciting thing to happen was during dessert when the server almost dropped a piece of german chocolate cake on Ms. Williams. And she shouted at him for being clumsy and gave a lecture on the benefits of paying attention.

Needless to say, I had never been as relieved as I was when Lockwood and I were on our way back to Portland Row.

"I am never doing anything like that again. Not for anything." I snapped.

Lockwood didn't say anything for a moment.

"Is it too late to tell you that she wants to meet again next week."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not especially proud of this one but I think it went well. There were some good parts at least. 
> 
> And as always thank you for reading! I can't believe the number of hits it's gotten. Thanks again!


	9. Cobbler Crust, Brown Sugar, and Cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gang celebrates thanksgiving

One holiday that hadn’t been changed by the problem was Thanksgiving. Families still gathered and feasted on a turkey dinner, celebrating the harvest. 

Portland Row was no different. Fall decorations adorned almost all of the houses. A wreath, wooden blocks with caricatures of turkeys and scarecrows, banners with sayings like ‘Harvest’ or ‘Thanks’ or ‘Fall’, and the odd hay bale. At number 35 there were a couple of pumpkins sitting by the door and fallen leaves had been strung together and wrapped around the iron fence. 

Inside the house, five people sat around a table. A table laden with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, gravy, rolls and cornbread. An array of pies were set out on the counter. 

This was their first Thanksgiving with Kipps and Holly. There hadn’t been time to celebrate last year. The Chelsea Outbreak had taken all of their time. And Kipps was a recent addition. 

“Do you have any traditions?” Holly asked. Thanksgiving had never been a big event for them. Around this time there was always an uptick in cases. So they threw together a miniature feast of chicken, rolls, and mashed potatoes. Before immediately having to head out again.

“We haven’t exactly had the time to make traditions,” Lockwood said. 

Holly looked somewhat surprised. “Oh, well, my family would always say what we were thankful for before we ate.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” George said and then he suggested. “Lockwood, why don’t you start, and then we can go clockwise around the table.”

It wasn’t lost on them that he had basically made himself go last. 

“I’m grateful for George’s mom making us dinner,” Lockwood stated. “...And for the support you’ve given me these past few years. I was… in a dark time still… and you guys helped me out of it.”

Lucy reached across the space between them, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. 

“I’m grateful that the fiasco with Fittes is done and that we all-,” Lucy glanced at the skull, brown and still on the table. “-most of us made it out alive.”

“I’m grateful for the amazing friends I’ve made here,” Holly said. “I didn’t think I’d be able to find this level of friendship.”

“I’m grateful for the opportunity you guys gave me. To find my sense of purpose again.” Kipps said. His head was down watching his hands flitter together.

George looked around the table taking in all of their expectant faces. “I’m grateful for the growth we’ve made as a team. I don’t think we would have accomplished half as much if we were still the same as when we tackled Comb Carey.”

There was a moment of silence.

Lockwood’s cheerful voice broke it.

“Well that was more profound than I was expecting.”

The table was hit with quiet chuckles.

“Shall we start then?” George asked hopefully. “I’m starving.”

Lucy snorted. “When are you not starving?”

“I’m a growing boy.”

Lockwood cut in before it could get any more out of control. “Lucy, why don’t you start?”

“I think that’s an excellent idea.”

Slowly the food was passed around.

Holly looked around confused. 

“Did we forget to cut the turkey?”

“Oh, yeah. I was going to do that.” Lockwood started to push his chair out.

The window by the sink shattered. Glass and a person flew into the kitchen. 

The person rolled as they hit the ground, stood up quickly, snatched the turkey off the table, and jumped back out the window.

Everyone sat staring at the table. 

“Did that just happen?” Kipps asked.

“I think Flo just stole our turkey.” Lockwood turned toward George. “When you see her next George, tell her she owes me a new window.”

Lucy shrugged. “I don’t really like turkey anyway.”

A chorus of ‘I don’t really either’ filled the room.

“Well,” Skull said. “If this is what Thanksgiving is like, I can’t wait to see what she’s gonna do with the Christmas ham.”

“Skull!?”

Indeed, there was a lot to be thankful for. 

Even- especially dramatic skulls who choose the most Extra moment possible to reveal himself as ‘not-dead’. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to my readers (if you celebrate Thanksgiving)!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
